


Ping Pong Balls and Solo Cups?

by secretpopstar



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:54:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretpopstar/pseuds/secretpopstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crushes, angst, and underage dimples, oh my!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ping Pong Balls and Solo Cups?

Jeff’s curly hair is caught in the collar of his Harris Teeter regulation navy polo shirt AGAIN, and he attempts to fix it as Gabby, his cashier today, begins ringing up another customer. Without looking up, Jeff begins carefully bagging the miscellaneous groceries as he was taught just this morning, keeping the frozen pizza separate from the ping pong balls and solo cups--ping pong balls and solo cups? He looks up and sees a muscular chest. He cranes his neck a bit and comes into contact with a pair of laughing brown eyes, as the captain of his school’s varsity hockey team stands waiting for his groceries.  
“You‘re Eric Staal! Oh god, I‘m sorry. It‘s just I‘m trying out for the team this year, and I‘ve seen you play and you‘re really good, I--” Gabby clears her throat, and Jeff feels his face heat up and ducks his head. “I’m sorry, you’re probably in a hurry, let me just get these for you.” Eric raises his eyebrows and laughs. “It’s cool, man, no rush. Not like they can start without me when I’ve got the supplies, right?” Jeff nods. This makes sense. Logical and good at hockey…Eric Staal is even more perfect than he’d originally thought.  
“So are you any good?” Eric asks as Jeff walks around the counter to hand him his bags. Jeff blushes again, ducking his head. At least his hair is useful for something. “Uh…I’ve never played beer pong before.” Eric throws his head back and laughs, attracting the admiring attention of nearby customers. “I meant hockey. But if you want to try your hand you should come by, a few guys from the team are coming to mine tonight. Around 8? See you, Jeff.” Jeff watches him walk away with his mouth hanging open, before turning to his coworker, “He knows my name!” He clears his throat, that came out embarrassingly squeaky, but who cares, Eric Staal knows--Gabby rolls her eyes and points wordlessly at his name tag, secured firmly above his heart, where it says “Hi, my name is JEFF” for all to see.  
“…Oh.” 

Eight o’clock comes and goes, and Jeff curses himself for accepting the late shift with every passing minute. Despite the lack of late-night shoppers, he can’t bring himself to skip out on his shift on his very first day. Even if he did manage to slip away, he has no way of getting to Eric’s. Being only a freshman, Jeff doesn’t have his license. His mom is planning on picking him up after work, eager to hear all about his first day at his first job.  
Jeff sighs gustily and pretends to straighten up his bagging station to avoid the questioning look of the customer perusing the magazine selection at the kiosk next to his register. He pictures cars filling up the yard of the massive farm at the edge of Raleigh that everyone knows belongs to the Staals. Between the four sons, Eric being the oldest, and a senior, he bets their parties draw quite a crowd. Eric probably forgot he invited Jeff anyway. Or at least, that would be preferable over telling all of Jeff’s hopefully-future teammates about what an overeager kid he was earlier. It’s probably good not to go, so as not to look too keen. Jeff nods to himself resolutely, having effectively convinced himself that not going to the party is a strategy, as opposed to a missed opportunity.

 

Jeff doesn’t see Eric Staal again for a month, when hockey tryouts roll around on a Friday. Jeff knows he’s good, but he’s still nervous. These guys have been playing together for years, what if he doesn’t fit with the team? He doesn’t want to embarrass himself. Turns out he worried for nothing, he’s one of only three guys trying out, and none of them get cut. Justin Faulk, the only other freshman, looks like he’ll fit in just fine, already performing some bro handshake with his fellow defensemen at the end of practice. Alexander Semin, a transfer student who doesn’t speak much English but has a wicked wrist shot, already slid seamlessly into the top line. Jeff sees him nodding along with Eric and their other linemate, Jiri Tlusty, as they discuss plays. He wonders if Semin actually understands what they’re saying. Before he can decide, his own probably linemate, one of Eric’s many younger brothers, gives him an ice shower as he stops inches from Jeff. “FROSH!” Jordan yells, before attempting to throw Jeff over his shoulder. “Damn, kid, I thought you just had really padded pants on, guess your ass really is that big,” Jordan grunts. Jeff can’t help but laugh, but freezes up when he notices Eric approaching with a scowl on his face. “Jordy, stop harassing the newbies,” he orders. “Aw, but he likes it, see!” Jordan pokes a finger into Jeff’s dimple, and Jeff turns bright red under the scrutiny. Eric sighs long-sufferingly, “Welcome to the team, Jeff. I‘m sorry,” he throws over his shoulder as he skates away, shaking his head as he goes. Jeff forces himself to not get excited by Eric knowing his name this time. He probably just read the tryout roster, he is captain, after all.

That Sunday Jeff is back at work and nearing the end of his shift when Eric shows up. He comes through Jeff’s lane with a flat of yellow Gatorade, throwing Jeff a smarmy salute as Ben, the cashier, rings him up. “Lemon-lime, really?” Jeff can’t resist commenting, wrinkling his nose. “Hey, it’s classic!” Eric protests good-naturedly. “Classically disgusting!” Jeff shoots back. Eric huffs a laugh as he lifts the flat onto his shoulder. “What’s your favorite, then?” “Orange,” Jeff tells him, and once again Eric walks away from him shaking his head. He’s sensing a pattern here.  
Monday after a tough practice, filled with mostly skating drills, Eric passes yellow Gatorades out to the team. He doesn’t offer Jeff one, but when Jeff opens his locker he finds an orange Gatorade sitting on top of his neatly folded street clothes. He has a hard time drinking it, he’s smiling so hard.

**Author's Note:**

> I've read AO3 for years, but this is my first post! Just a blurb, thinking of making this a multi-chapter fic. Feedback is welcome, and sorry I can't title things very well!


End file.
